


AWARDS SEASON

by pipercritical



Category: Actor RPF, Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:45:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipercritical/pseuds/pipercritical
Summary: After months since last seeing each other, Sophie and Aidan reunite at the 2017 Emmys. Their mutual attraction is tested at an after-party and something gets broken. In the glare of the public eye, will it be impossible to fix?





	1. The Arrival

A tall, imposing man outstretched his hand, guiding Aidan from the rented stretch limousine. “Mr. Gillen?” he asked. 

Aidan Murphy nodded as he stood, slipping into his best-known character like a well-worn suit. 

“Welcome to the Microsoft Theater,” the man continued. “Please step this way, sir.” 

Following his cue, Aiden stepped out to the end of the long red carpet and paused to listen to the jubilant cheers radiating from the crowd of fans gathered for the festivities. The popular actor tried to muster a genuine grin and hold it as he began his long walk down the Carpet, but he wasn’t sure he was fooling anyone. He was more nervous than he’d ever been.

Luckily, his manager, Shona, and her assistant, Meg, successfully navigated their way past security and scurried up to him, doting on him immediately. 

“Well, look at you,” Shona admired. “The fairies did a decent job cleaning you up.” Awkwardly, she brushed non-existent lint off his shoulder and ran her fingers lightly through his hair. “Let’s just hope the leprechauns don’t abandon you in your time of need, righty-o?” 

Aidan winced. She thought she was so witty. He tended to disagree. She was a capable manager and a nice person too, but her social graces were less than stellar. It was uncomfortable spending time with her outside of the office and Aidan always dreaded events like this for that exact reason. But Shona was self-aware and wise. It’s why she hired Meg. 

“Don’t forget, you’re wearing Hugo Boss,” Meg informed him in her matter-of-fact tone. Meg was the mousy but brilliant superstar that pretty much ran Shona’s agency. Meg had joined her team only about three years ago, but since her arrival, all things work related - especially those with a social component - had gone much more smoothly. Aidan liked and respected Meg. She continued, “And try to credit Emma if you can squeeze it in, OK?” 

Why anyone cared what designer’s suit he was wearing was beyond him. To him, a suit was a suit; they were all similar and unremarkable. He thought inquiring about celebrity attire was trivial and pedantic. Couldn’t journalists be curious about an actor’s career or talents instead? Forever cynical, Aidan sighed his discontent.

”Hugo Boss and Emma, my stylist,” he reiterated. “Yeah, that’s easy enough to remember.” 

“Goody good,” clapped Shona. “Be sure to stop for anyone who wants to interview you, now. Well, except for that creep Perez Hilton and the folks from TMZ, of course. You want to keep that personal life of yours personal, don’t you?”

“Very much so,” he replied while smiling and waving dutifully. 

“Keep it brief, too,” Meg advised. “You need to keep moving.” 

“I’ll do my best ladies,” Aidan assured them, glancing at his watch to note the time. “I try not to disappoint, you know.” 

He secretly wished he could come to these events in jeans and a nice cable-knit sweater, but he wasn’t famous enough to make that bold of a fashion statement. What he really wished was to avoid these types of things altogether. Most of the time, the pretension of being a celebrity wore thin with him. Taking his mother’s maiden name as his stage name helped him separate his professional life from his personal one, but often it felt like it wasn’t enough. Although Aidan Murphy enjoyed playing Aidan Gillen, he knew he’d gotten into the wrong profession if he wanted any privacy. Protecting Aidan Murphy took all of Aidan Gillen’s effort at acting.

Every few feet the threesome walked, reporters shoved microphones in Aidan’s face and shouted questions at him all at once. The blinding flashes from the sea of cameras pointed his direction never seemed to abate. And the line of celebrities ahead of them was moving at a snail’s pace. He was sure this night was going to drag on forever, potentially boring him to death. Only the thought of seeing her kept him going. 

“We need to find your co-stars,” Shona mumbled in a slight panic as she scanned the area for familiar faces. “Do you guys see any?”

“I don’t,” replied Meg, pushing her glasses up on her nose and looking around.

“Me either,” said Aidan, but without really looking. Could Shona read his mind? He wondered sometimes. She always seemed to know exactly what he needed, often before even he could vocalize it, and tonight appeared to be no different. He smiled, taking comfort in that knowledge. He knew Shona would find her for him, even if she didn’t realize that was what she was doing.

“Should we step out then?” Meg suggested. 

“Yes,” Shona confirmed, “yes we should.” She pointed to an unoccupied spot right off the carpet, next to a camera crew from some local news station. “Stand right over there and I’ll see who I can find.” She was already on the phone, calling other handlers of a few key Game of Thrones co-stars. While he waited, Aidan too pulled his phone from his pocket and checked it for messages. He found one. From her.

“Almost there.”

That was six minutes old. He knew she should be there by now. He scanned the line of limousines pulling to the curb and tried to not look desperate. He wanted to tell Shona to stop calling around to find other co-stars because the perfect one was arriving, but he couldn’t expose his secret desires. He just stood silent and waited impatiently. 

“It’d be so much easier, you know,” Shona lamented aloud, “if Camille would just attend these things with you.” Meg overheard and shot Shona an evil-eyed stare. Shona shrugged off a silent apology and Aidan turned away from her, annoyed. He fidgeted with the lapel of his suit-coat and mumbled almost imperceptibly, “Oh, I doubt that.”

Just as Shona was about to ask Aidan why, she was redirected into her phone call. Meg looked to Aidan apologetically and an awkward silence surrounded them. Thankfully, Shona hung up her phone soon after and made an announcement. “Sophie should be arriving momentarily. She’s the perfect person to walk with you, don’t you think? 

“Oh yes,” Aidan replied, his grin finally morphing into a genuine one, “Sophie’s perfect.” He was so excited. His eyes lit up at the mention of her name and he was suddenly giddy, like a schoolboy picking up his date for prom. Both Meg and Shona noticed the change in their client’s demeanor and looked to each other curiously.

"I’ll go get her and bring her to you,” Shona said with her brow furrowed. Their confused commiseration made Aiden chuckle under his breath. He didn’t know how Sophie was going to pull this off. 

“Thanks Shona. I’ll be right here.”  
:.


	2. The Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains explicit sexual content. Discretion is advised.

“You’re going to the Emmys, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am! I’m nominated for one, remember?”

“No way! I had no idea.”

“Ha-ha-ha.”

“Just kidding. I remember. I’m just jealous, that’s all.”

“Well don’t be that. You’re young and have your whole career ahead of you. I’m old and running out of time to be acknowledged. Don’t know if I’ll get another chance.”

“Aidan, don’t talk like that. Your body of work isn’t complete. You totally deserve all the accolades you’re getting.”

“You are a sweetheart, aren’t you Sophie? I miss talking with you.”

“I miss you too; and probably more than I should.”

“Really? What does that mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Nothing… Are you bringing Camille?”

“No, no I’m not.”

“Oh, oh-kay. Uhm, have you chosen an after-party to go to?” 

“Honestly, I hate after-parties. Rarely attend them.”

“Well that’s a shame. Last year I went to the Maxim party at the Beverly Hills Hotel. It was so much fun.”

“I’m sure it was, considering you were 20.”

“Well, I doubt being 20 had anything to do with it. It was just a great party. You really should go this year, especially if you win.”

“I’d feel awkward and out of place. I’m not much of a partier anymore, you know.” 

“Well you could go with me. That would help take the edge off, wouldn’t it?”

“I dunno. Possibly. It might make things worse too. Hehe.”

“Great, it’s a date then.”

“A date? Wait a minute…”

“No. You just show up, handsome, and I’ll take care of the rest.”

“You will? I guess I’ll have to trust you.”

“You absolutely should. And you’ll thank me afterwards, I know it.”

“OK then beautiful, if you say so. See you in two days.”

“Yes, in two days! Bye!”

After hanging up, Aidan realized his heart was racing. She called him handsome. He turned to look in the mirror that hung over the fireplace in his home office and shook his head in disbelief at her compliment. All he saw was a middle-aged man with hair salt-and-peppered gray and more wrinkles embedded in his skin than he could possibly count. He didn’t feel handsome at all. Instead, he felt like a lustful teenager trapped in the decaying body of an old man. But still, just hearing her voice was enough to arouse him. 

He hadn’t seen Sophie in well over six months. Phone calls and Face Time were woefully inadequate substitutes for the real thing. He often felt he needed her in his life as much as he needed oxygen. She made him feel young, exhilarated, and full of life. And hard as a rock, too. 

Aidan stopped staring at himself in the mirror and looked down upon the burgeoning rise in the front of his jeans. He laughed softly. Clearly his cock wasn’t aware that he was beyond the age of instant erections. It always seemed to forget the 50-year-old body it was connected to whenever thoughts of Sophie entered his mind. Aidan’s cock was a demanding beast with a voracious appetite. 

Luckily, that moment happened to be a completely reasonable time to allow fantasy to take over and to spend a bit of time complying with the demands of his erection. With Camille finally gone and the kids at their mother's for the week, the timing couldn’t have been better. He looked back to the mirror and smiled slyly at himself, then began unbuckling his belt. It had been too long since he'd brought pleasure to himself this way. Just getting the time and space to undertake such an endeavor was so rare he couldn't help but see getting off as a challenge. He tingled all over realizing how very "up" for the challenge he was. 

After freeing his turgid member from its confines, Aidan held it firmly in his right hand and squeezed it until the head turned crimson and pulsed urgently. Breathing in, he slowly began to pull his coarse palm and long digits along its exposed length, allowing his blood to pump evenly throughout. He leaned over and dropped a dollop of spit from his tongue onto his aching rod for lubrication. The muscles in his hips twitched in response to the new slick sensations. 

Trying to get as comfortable as possible, he leaned back into his leather office chair and adjusted his pants. Then he unbuttoned the top of his shirt and kicked off his loafers so he could prop his sock-covered feet upon the edge of his desk. The rhythm of his self-indulgent stroking made his toes curl and his legs gently shudder. Dreamily, he closed his eyes and brought images of her to the forefront of his mind: the softness of her pale skin, the gentle curve of her back, the plumpness of her rosy lips, the youthful perk to her breasts, and the sultry stare from her crystal blue eyes. Recalling the prickling electric current he received from her touch, he sighed deeply with satisfaction. 

Imagining Sophie’s hand replacing his own, he manipulated his stiff flesh vigorously. Every long stroke from the base to the tip of his aching cock encouraged his thoughts of her to grow more explicit. He imagined her long, shapely legs opening slowly at the knees to him, revealing her hidden femininity between them. Like a beacon, her supple flesh glowed and he could hear echoes of her breathy pout whispering his name, “Aidan. Aidan, my love. Come to me. Come take me. Take me now.” 

Lost in his desire, his hand continued to pull on his pulsing hard cock, fully engorging it with blood until bubbles of pre-cum began to sputter at its tip. Masturbating at a frantic pace, he shuffled through the mental images of his favorite fantasies involving her and kept himself on the edge of release. With his left hand he tightly gripped the arm of his chair while his right hand gripped his cock even tighter. The friction was electric and the pressure intense. He couldn’t help himself from arching his back skyward and moaning his desire aloud, even though only he could hear it. 

”Oh yes Sophie, yes!” 

He wanted her there with him so badly. He simply had to have her. In his fantasy, anything was possible. In his fantasy, he could take his desire to another level, going to a place of illicit lust that only he knew existed. There, he could be as licentious and kinky as he wanted. He could do unspeakable things to Sophie’s body, and in his fantasies, she was always a willing and encouraging recipient. Oh dear God did he want. He wanted his fantasies to play out with her so badly, he grunted and groaned to keep the overwhelming frustrations at bay. In his naughty mind though, there would be no more waiting, no need for whimsical romance, and no objections from his conscience. He was going to have her the way he wanted her most, with her exquisite backside brazenly exposed to him in the sexiest way possible. In his mind's eye, he flipped her over and stood back to admire her beauty.

“Do I turn you on Aidan?” his fantasy lover implored, looking back over her shoulder with her sultry bedroom eyes. “Do you like what you see? Do you find me sexy? Do you want to touch me? To taste me? Oh, I know you do, you naughty, naughty boy.”

Incapable of turning away from her, he locked his lustful gaze onto her ass and leaned in to inhale the intoxicating musk of her scent. He swooned and the room began to spin around him. His breath became rapid and shallow, a literal panting he couldn’t control. His hand was now a blur over his engorged erection. He knew his orgasm was imminent. Continuing down the dark road of his fantasy, Aidan didn't ask permission to undertake his most lascivious action yet. He knew she was aching for it as much as he was. The way she made her hips gyrate while she moaned his name gave him all the encouragement he needed to stay steady on his course. Emboldened, he reached out his hand and placed it on one of the smooth globes of her ass cheeks. She didn't protest, so he slipped his fingers beneath the thin edge of the pink silk panties barely covering her modesty. Under them, he found her warm, moist and inviting. Sophie giggled and lifted her ass in the air, closer to his face, egging him on ever so gently. He couldn't wait a moment longer. Swiftly pulling her panties aside, he set his eyes upon the prize and shivered with anticipation. This was what he'd been longing for.

Sweat began to drip from his pores and he could barely control his breathing. He envisioned his rough, impatient hands spreading her cheeks apart with his fingers pressing into her soft responsive flesh. The view of her tiny puckered rosebud was much improved. He imagined her purposely teasing him by squeezing it tightly closed and then flexing it as open as she could, inviting him into her most intimate place. It was so beautiful. She was so beautiful. He loved everything about her and simply had to have her. But he’d never taken his fantasies about her this far before. This was new uncharted territory, even for his kinky mind. It was well enough to lust as badly as he did for the young beauty but to really go as far as he was planning to go was quite an extreme fantasy. Should he scale it back? After coming this far, could he scale it back?

He realized immediately that his body had passed a point of no return and his mind was going there no matter what reservations he had, so he extinguished his doubts and doubled down on his conviction to see his fantasy through to its end. With one last spit onto his hard cock, he made sure it was ready for the beating it was about to endure. Then he tightly closed his eyes and pictured his face diving down between the cleft of Sophie's upturned ass. Mercilessly pulling on his rigid cock, he stuck his tongue out between his teeth and simulated plunging it deep into her tight, sexy hole. Her spongy starburst acquiesced to him momentarily but then clamped shut forcefully, squeezing his tongue and pulling him farther into the depths of her. He didn’t struggle at all. He was elated that she gave him access to that special, dark place.

Sophie, meanwhile, giggled encouragement while she squirmed beneath him. “More Aidan, more!” she cried out, lustful and oh so turned on. He was in heaven. Everything was just as he’d wanted it to be. Right at the edge of ecstasy, he happily drowned in her ass as he furiously continued to masturbate. When his balls contracted violently, signalling the apex of his pleasure, he gasped for air and moaned her name one last time. And then the stars exploded. 

He crashed into his orgasm with a powerful release, convulsing, hyperventilating and whimpering. Cum spurted copiously from his cock with a force seemingly reserved solely for Sophie, spraying everywhere indiscriminately while his blood flooded back into his body in pulses. Sweat cascaded down his flushed skin and soaked his clothes, damp and cool, until he began to shiver. At his age, the intensity of his cum shot surprised him. He felt like such a dirty old man. 

Sophie brought out an animal lust in him that he thought had been long lost with his youth. As he caught his breath, sitting in the mess he’d made, he basked in the afterglow and pondered the possibilities of their reunion in a mere two days. He was more excited to see her than he was to attend the Emmys. He silently cursed his libido for showing him no mercy. Then he also cursed Queer as Folk, good-heartedly of course, for originally putting the idea of eating ass in his perverted little head. But now it was Sophie’s ass he dreamed of, not Charlie’s anymore, and for that, at least, he was relieved.

:.


	3. The Dress

“This is the Emmys, Maisie. I need to do more than impress. I need to SLAY." Sophie could be so dramatic, even on a FaceTime call. "Stop slacking off, would you? I need the truth this time. Just tell me your honest opinion.” That was a loaded request.

“Well..." Maisie started, hesitating while trying to give a fair assessment of the designer gown on Sophie. "I'm not entirely sure,” she finally managed to eek out. Sophie stopped posing in the mirror and shot a look of pure annoyance towards her phone that spoke volumes to Maisie without a sound. Maisie took a deep breath and cleared her throat. She was stuck in that proverbial narrow crevasse between the rock and the hard place because she didn't like the dress. It was gorgeous, that was undeniable, and it fit Sophie pretty well, but it just looked funny in a strange sort of way. Maisie knew she couldn't give an honest opinion about it without getting some backlash. But she had no choice so she gave it her best shot.

“Orange is usually a great color on you, Soph," she began again, "but THAT particular orange is... well... I don't know, it's just different." That didn't go over real well. Trying again, she shrugged weakly and offered, "Maybe its the floral cut-outs?” Her breath left her body slowly as she slumped down in her chair and waited for the inevitable. Sophie was steamed.

“Really?" Sophie snapped. "THAT'S your advice?" She grabbed her phone off her bureau and put her face right up to the camera lens to make sure Maisie was seeing her face. "You're NOT being helpful," she spat. "I should just hang up on you and find someone else to help me." Then she threw her phone on her bed where it landed screen-side up.

"Sorry," Maisie said softly, realizing she was looking at Sophie's ceiling. Sensing this was a good time to take a break, she got up and went downstairs to make a sandwich. She felt dejected and worn out and like she could use some refueling. It had been many hours that she'd been playing fashion critic for Sophie. It wasn't an unfamiliar task for her; Sophie frequently asked for advice on what to wear. Her straightforward truthfulness was a refreshing change from the fluff and lies offered by the people-pleasers who surrounded them most of the time. Usually, she didn't mind helping, but this time it was testing her resolve. Her friend had never been so driven to find an outfit or so picky about her likes and dislikes. Maisie was getting tired of suggesting beautiful gowns only to have them rejected for seemingly no good reasons. And then to deal with Sophie's anger anytime Maisie didn't like a gown was just too much. She shouldn't be punished for doing exactly what was asked of her. It was insanity.

So Maisie started to people-please like everyone else. She pretended to like the dresses Sophie tried on no matter what, and like clockwork, those dresses would get rejected. But eventually Sophie caught on to her acquiescence and demanded she return to her honest opinions. Maisie reluctantly agreed and backlash ensued again. The whole thing was getting really annoying and she couldn't wait for it to be over. She sliced her peanut butter, jam, and lettuce sandwich in half, took a big bite out of it, and headed back upstairs to see if Sophie had righted the phone yet. A pretty bright idea had come to her that she thought Sophie might like.

Deep down, Sophie knew Maisie wanted nothing more than to be helpful but her bad mood was raging out of control and poor Maisie was getting the brunt of it. She felt so frantic not having a dress a mere two days before the Emmy's. Sophie really had no time to be patient, kind, or understanding, but she needed to find a way to be all those things if she wanted to keep her best friend. She wished Maisie would act more like herself though and less like she was just trying to get the dress-picking over with. She needed that brash, no-holds-barred, obnoxiously opinionated girl she knew so well and depended upon, not this timid, meek shadow of her friend. But she knew she'd pushed Maisie to this; she knew. This frenzy of disappointment and desperation had gotten her so angry she'd lashed out at Maisie, who understandably took it personally and withdrew, becoming too fearful to make honest critiques. She knew she needed her but she was going to lose her if she kept being an obstinate bitch. She needed to step back and reassess the situation.

"Wonderful," she grumbled to herself and grabbed her phone off her bed. Maisie was no longer on-screen but she propped it up on it's kickstand on her bureau anyway then turned away from it and began to disrobe. She unzipped the dress and then stepped out of it, leaving it laying on the floor with the other failures. When she arrived again at her closet door, nude in blue stilettos, she scanned her remaining options and sighed aloud, "I'm running out of fucking gowns.” If Maisie could see her face, she'd see how sad and hopeless she looked. What she didn't know was an idea had just come to Maisie and she was about to shout it into the phone so Sophie could hear her from across the room.

“What about that pink dress you didn’t wear to Cannes?" Maisie offered. Sophie perked up, turning around. "Didn't you let your mum wear it over the summer?”

Ah-hah! Maisie was right! Her mum wanted to wear it to that cousin from Lancashire's wedding but decided it was too low cut for her liking and never gave it back. "Yes Mais, I think you're right!" Sophie said, coming back into frame with a smile on her face. "I'd completely forgotten about it! I'll be right back." With that, she dashed off to her mum's chambers and found the blush pink gown buried deep in her walk-in. After admiring it for a moment, she ran quickly back to her room to put it on and get Maisie's opinion. She'd gotten it for Cannes, in the Spring of the previous year, about 20 months prior. Since she'd last tried it on she'd gotten considerably more curvy and voluptuous - not fat, by any means, but more womanly in all the right places. One of the downsides to growing up could be outgrowing multi-thousand dollar designer dresses. She prayed this wouldn't be the case here.

“You found it! It's very pretty." Maisie gushed when Sophie showed it off in front of the camera.

"Now lets just hope it fits," Sophie said then stepped into the delicate chiffon. When the zipper reached about halfway up her back, it stopped. She adjusted the dress, sucked in her tummy, exhaled, and tried to pull the zipper again. It wasn't budging. She stood up straight and looked in the mirror and then into the phone. Maisie looked concerned. It was obvious the dress was at least a size too small for her, probably two. And her chest was barely contained in the deeply plunging neckline. She could understand why her mum didn't want to wear it to a wedding. But the dress was so pretty. Damn it all to hell. "Well, I guess it doesn't," Sophie conceded. Maisie just nodded silently. "I don't know what I was expecting - the dress is like two years old. But still, I'm peeved. This one coulda been a contender.”

"Oh I had some bets down for it," Maisie joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Funny," Sophie admitted, sneaking in a few chuckles. But this was another setback. She took off this latest disappointment and let it join the others strewn across her carpet. "If you like it Mais, I could send it to you. It'd probably fit you if you hemmed it up a bit.”

“Really?" Maisie asked, surprised. "I'd love it. It's beautiful. Thanks Soph. That's righteous of ya." Tensions seemed to ease between the girls and even without success finding a gown for Sophie, both seemed happier again. "But don't get sidetracked here. We're focusing on you, not me, remember?"

"Yeah, we're supposed to be, but I'm pretty sure there's nothing left for me to try on," Sophie lamented, disappearing into her closet yet again. "Well, wait. There's this..." She emerged with a hanger holding a little black dress.

"That's not a gown girl, that's just a dress. You said you need a stunner and that sure isn't stunning."

“Yep, you’re right again.” Sophie sighed, returning the hanger to the rack. “I'm so frustrated," she said as she grabbed the phone and plopped down on her bed. "And I didn't say I wanted to stun, I said I want to SLAY.” 

“Oh, yes, sorry bout that. SLAY. Well, why slay?” Maisie asked, genuinely curious. “Are you fighting Drogon at the Emmy's or something? Stunning seems a reasonable enough thing to do. And it’s not like you’re up for an Emmy, like me, or Lena, or Peter, or Aidan. Ha ha ha.” Maisie couldn't help but laugh. She loved that she was nominated for an Emmy this year. How crazy surreal was that? Sophie had always been a good sport about her teasing and often got her back by playing brutal practical jokes on her. It seemed an arrangement that worked well for their friendship. Maisie's mouth, however, would sometimes get in front of her head and things would pop out before she'd thought them through. “It’s not because of Joe, is it?” 

“Fuck Joe,” Sophie snapped.

But Maisie's mouth was off and running, unable to sense when to stop for its own good. "No. Thank. You. That's Camila’s job now.”

Sophie was unamused. She glared into her phone, lips pursed and silent. Then she pushed the disconnect button. She was having none of that bullshit.

When the line went dead, Maisie finally clued in. But it was too late; she’d really blown it. She'd said the wrong thing and pushed too far with the wrong subject. She had to fix it. Even though the pair had been FaceTiming for over six hours, she called Sophie back immediately. Unsurprisingly, Sophie didn't answer. It took eight more calls to get her to pick up the phone. When she finally did, Maisie gushed her apology immediately, begging for forgiveness. “I’m SO sorry Soph,” she cried before anything else could be said. “Please forgive me. I never should've said that. That was way out of line, even for me.”

“Yeah it was,” Sophie agreed, her voice wound tight, “it really was.”

Without getting an acceptance of her apology, Maisie started talking about Joe and their breakup again. Sophie couldn't believe it. “I just can’t get over what a douche he was to you,” Maisie complained, as if Sophie asked for commiseration on the subject. “I mean really, couldn’t he have been a man about it and broken your engagement off _before_ he started fucking someone else? Like, how humiliating was it for you to have to find out in the tabloids like everybody else? And how could he just let the paparazzi catch them all snogged together like that? No class, I tell you. No class at all.” 

Sophie simply nodded, incredulous that she would go on about their failed relationship at all. Technically, she agreed with what she was saying. It did make sense to her, but she really didn't want to hear it. So again, she set her phone on her bed and let Maisie babble to her ceiling. Obviously the girl had some stuff she needed to get off of her chest, however she didn't feel the need to re-hash the details of her failed relationship with Joe. She went around her room and picked up all of the gowns strewn across her carpet instead.

In the background, Maisie went on. “Like, who does he think he is? Does he think because he's a Jonas Brother he's untouchable? I mean, come on! And even worse, who does that little hussy think she is? She’s not all that, you know. She’s gonna flop without Fifth Harmony. You just wait and see. Her solo music sucks. She’s all show and no substance. A total flop if you ask me. Have you heard her new song? Oh it's horrible. It's about Cuba or something. Pure trash I tell ya...”

Sophie took all of the gowns she gathered, minus the pale pink one she was sending Maisie, and set them over her changing lounge in her closet so she could package them to send to a charity later. She wasn't ever going to wear them so hopefully someone else could make good use of them. Well, at least she hoped so. Maisie’s voice seemed miles away to her but she knew she was still talking about Joe and Camila. “You’re way prettier than she is too, Soph. Like mobs prettier. Like mobs upon gobs prettier. Wow, what was he thinking? He's gonna SO regret his decision to leave you for her when he comes to his senses. Mark my works. He's gonna regret it. BIG time! Oh, he’s such a DOUCHE!” 

Then, out of the corner of Sophie's eye, she spotted a box that she'd been mistaking for a shoe box this entire day. She did, in fact, have shoes stacked on top of it, but it was a dress box and it had a gown inside of it that was ordered from Ralph & Russo's 2016 Couture collection. Excited, she pulled the box and flung the top off of it. Inside was a gorgeous teal gown with a shimmering sequined skirt and richly embellished top. She squealed with delight and dropped the box to the floor. The squeal got Maisie's attention.

"Are you OK?" she asked from the bedroom.

"I'm actually great," Sophie replied. "I found something else to try on!"

"Oh cool! I can't wait to see it!" Maisie said. She sincerely hoped this would be the dress to end this dreadful day of making no decisions. Sophie was just relieved that her finding this dress distracted Maisie from talking any more about Joe. It had only been 26 days since she found out and the wound was still raw. Very raw. She understood why Maisie felt all the ways she went on and on about but she simply wasn't ready to hash any of it out with anyone just yet. Not even her best friend. She didn't want to start crying like a baby and probably never stop. That's what WASN'T going to happen; not to her. She was going to get through the breakup on her own terms, in her own time. People just needed to respect her privacy. That meant the press, her friends, and her family. She'd be fine. Now everybody needed to focus on something else, like this dress.

"So, what do you think?" Sophie asked, excited and confident, posing for her friend in front of her phone. "It's gorgeous, isn't it?"

“Pffft," Maisie snorted. "It looks like a prom dress. Like, what’s up with that sleeve?" She was off and running again. Sophie's shoulders slumped down, discouraged. Maisie continued, "My God, the top half of that thing is an absolute train wreck. And those sequins on the bottom half? Well, they'd be cool if the whole dress was made of them, but being just on the bottom half, they make you look like a lounge singer. C'mon now, is this one of your practical jokes on me or are you trying to get onto the ‘Worst Dressed’ list?”

Sophie looked like she was going to cry. “No Maisie,” she said, her voice cracking, "this was a legitimate attempt to find something to wear to this STUPID event. Thank you VERY much for returning to your regular self and completely trashing my hopes for it. You did exactly what I wanted you to do and I couldn't be happier about it." Then Sophie burst into tears and crumpled to the ground. 

"Sophie," Maisie called out. "Soph, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so harsh. Really, I didn't. I probably coulda said all that a little more gently. Soph? I know its been a long day and we're both really tired and I shoulda been more sensitive. Soph, honey? I'm really sorry. Please stop crying. Please?"

Sniffling, Sophie lifted her head and wiped her tears. “No Mais, it's OK. I'm alright." Getting to her feet she picked up her phone and looked at Maisie intently. "I really appreciate your help today. I'm sorry I've been so crazy. I haven't been fair to you. You've given me great advice, advice I've needed to hear. Well, except for all that crap about Joe - DON'T do that again, OK? - but other than that you were VERY helpful today and I’m glad we did this."

"Me too Soph," Maisie whispered gently, "I'm really sorry I upset you."

"No, I said it was OK Mais, and it is," Sophie confirmed. "Let's just take a break from this for now and I'll see you in LA at the Emmy's. You can see what I end up deciding to wear along with the rest of the world."

“OK, I guess,” Maisie replied, relieved, but curious how Sophie planned to pull it together on such short notice. "Can I say sorry one last time?"

“Your apologies have been accepted,” she stated firmly. “No more. Please.”

“Fine,” Maisie agreed. “Besties for life then. Good luck dress hunting. You're gonna need it.”

“Thanks Mais, I’ll find something that’ll work. I always do. See you in LA!” The girls waved goodbye and wished each other well.

“Toods!”

“Toods!”

For the next hour, Sophie relentlessly reviewed images of the latest couture from the hottest designers online. When she saw the Elie Saab collection from Fall 2016, she almost fell from her bed she laughed so hard in amazement. No wonder she was having such a difficult time finding a gown - the stars aligned to shine upon this collection for her to see. The fates wished for her to wear one of these gorgeous designs seemingly stitched from her thoughts. How did Elie get inside her mind and sketch what she wanted and have that woven thread by thread into luxurious gowns that were paraded down runways in Paris, Milan and New York? She had no idea but she knew wearing one of them to the Emmy's was imperative. If she couldn't wear a gown from this collection then she simply wouldn't attend the event.

So she called her agent to put the word out to find his number immediately. It took a few hours but late that evening, she nervously contacted Elie Saab's House of Haute Couture and spoke with him directly. She was surprised to find out that he knew who she was and even admitted to being a fan of the show and specifically, a fan of hers. Even more surprising was coming to find out that she and her thoughts in fact WERE the inspiration for part of his Fall 2016 line. He was as elated that she wanted to wear one of the gowns as she was that all of the gowns were made with her in mind. He promised her an original piece of her choice, free of charge, and arranged a tailor to meet her at her suite in LA the next day for a fitting. She was ecstatic.

Sophie knew that she was sure to SLAY with the gown she had found to wear. It was going to cause quite a stir and arouse many questions. But she only cared what one person thought of the dress. Only his opinion mattered to her.

Giddy after hanging up with Elie, she re-opened Face Time and dialed Aidan's number for the first time in months.

:.


	4. The Restaurant

They didn’t even make it through the first course before their argument started. Aidan was mortified when their server had to ask them to either calm down or kindly step outside. Other guests were staring. His familiar face didn’t help the situation either. If they were going to fight, he wanted to do it at home, away from prying eyes, sharp ears and smartphone cameras. Camille was such a hothead though; she never took his celebrity into consideration when they had issues in public. It took much more effort than he liked to expend to keep her in check during her emotional outbursts. Not matching her intensity and unleashing months of pent up discontent towards her was a huge challenge. He stood his ground with her though; he was tired of the relentless dodging and weaving.

“I won’t Camille,” he stated firmly, just above a whisper. "I won't do this anymore." She was beyond caring. She just glared at him as she pushed her chair away from their table and grabbed her purse. Defiantly she stood, turned and stomped out of the restaurant, mumbling obscenities under her breath as the door swooshed closed behind her. “I won’t follow you this time either!” Aidan called out to the exhaust trails of her afterburners. He released a heavy sigh and leaned towards the table, resting his forehead in his palm. This time, he really meant it. He didn’t care if she had to walk three miles back to their estate. She could call a taxi. Or an Uber. This time, he wasn't chasing after her to make everything alright.

“Would you like the check sir?”

He didn’t want to raise his head to see the room full of diners he knew were staring at him. Instead, he nodded in defeat without even looking up at the young waiter. When the bill was set in front of him, he couldn’t help but laugh cynically. The restaurant had seen fit to charge them for the entrees they never even got served. And the bottle of wine Camille chose for them to drink was close to €200. That was so Camille. He made damn sure to gulp down what was left in both their glasses before handing the waiter his credit card. While his card was being processed, he poured what remained in the bottle into his glass and gulped that down as well. A bit tipsy but resolved to leave the wretched place as quickly as humanly possible, he dropped a €50 tip on the table and exited through the same door Camille had left through. The cold, foggy Belfast night wrapped around him like a familiar blanket and he already felt much better.

Driving home, Aidan was surprised to not see Camille on the road. If he did, he intended to drive right past her, holding true to his word. But nowhere along the three mile drive did he see her and when he arrived at their house half the lights were on inside. So, she must have managed a ride somehow. He slowly pulled his SUV into their garage and then just sat there, for more than a few minutes. He needed to gather his thoughts before he went in and talked to her. At least the kids were with their mother for the week so they wouldn’t have to bear witness to the inevitable fight that was about to go down.

He’d been with Camille nearly the entire three years since he'd separated from Olivia, but still, he’d not taken the final steps to file for divorce yet. This bothered Camille in every way possible. Aidan’s refusal to move on with his life was taken personally, as a sign of not being truly committed to her, and she let him know how unhappy it made her constantly. He wanted her to be his girlfriend, but on his terms, not hers. It was getting increasingly challenging, however, to convince her to stay without putting that ring on her finger. He couldn't begin to count how many times she’d begged him to end his marriage so they could make their relationship official. He was getting there, he thought, but just in his own time. When was that time though? Had he been stalling? Did he know why? Did he love Camille? Why hadn't he divorced Olivia? These questions ate at him insidiously, like parasites.

Eventually, he left the relative sanctuary of his garage and entered the house. Upstairs, he could hear Camille slamming drawers closed and, of course, crying. He hung his coat on the hall tree, set his keys on the kitchen table and headed upstairs to confront her. When he opened their bedroom door, he found her frantically packing her belongings into the two suitcases that were opened up atop the bed.

“Camille,” Aidan started but then stopped. He wasn’t going to try and stop her this time. If she wanted to go, then she should go. He was done chasing her; fighting with her. He wanted desperately for her to just let this issue go but knew that wasn’t going to happen. He could see it in her eyes. She was hanging on to this fight for dear life and wanted to go down with the ship. There was no convincing her otherwise.

“I’m not imagining it,” Camille insisted, distraught. “I know what I saw. She’s just a child, Aidan. She’s your daughter’s age for God’s sake!” 

Aidan snapped back, “Do not bring Berry into this. She has nothing to do with it.” 

It was reflexive to defend his daughter, so yes, she had a reasonable point. But she was making the comparison for shock value. Camille knew Sophie and Berry were leagues apart from one another in all things important, but mostly in matters of maturity, in matters that mattered. Where Berry struggled awkwardly, Sophie excelled. Sophie was an actress known world-wide and Berry was still a virgin in secondary school, for God’s sake. Berry and Sophie were like apples and oranges. Both fruits, yes, but with their flesh ripening in different seasons. 

“I didn’t say she did,” Camille defended. “But if someone your age was dating Berry, you’d be angry. You can’t tell me it wouldn’t concern you.”

“I’m not dating Sophie,” Aidan stated matter-of-factly, trying to steer her thoughts away from his daughter. “Stay in reality, Camille.” 

Sophie had reached 17, the age of consent in Ireland, when their first scripted kiss was shared. Still, the public eviscerated him for it. He was called a pedophile and a sexual predator and a rapist and surely many other horrible things by Game of Thrones fans who had difficulty separating him from the character he played on the show. Strangely though, the intensity of hate directed towards him could nearly be considered complimentary as it meant his acting was compelling enough to convince people he was his character, not himself. So Aidan didn't mind that much when fans got confused about the blurry lines his talent created. But when his own lover was struck with the same confusions, it drove him crazy. How could she think of him what the fans were thinking of _him_ , not his character? This was a major wound in their relationship and one that wasn't mending easily.

He hadn’t had this much backlash since playing Stuart on Queer as Folk. Back then, many fans misunderstood the passion and erotic tension he delivered to his sex scenes with Charlie Hunnam. "That couldn't be acting," they assumed. "No straight man could kiss another man like THAT." It looked real because he was good at his job. He didn't care if people wrongly assumed he was gay; his humility and deference allowed him to gracefully accept their confusion without being bitter or resentful. In fact, he used to be flattered by the fans misunderstanding his sexuality back then. He preferred to keep people guessing while continuing to put out quality, convincing work. He liked to be vague in order to maintain an air of mystery about him.

But if he was honest with himself, the intimate moments he and Charlie shared were just as complicated as the fans thought they were. Their closeness was distracting enough to make Aidan question his orientation multiple times. He was confident he wasn’t gay, but still he'd spend long hours obsessing over the next time he was going to kiss Charlie. It was the highlight of his day. And when Charlie told him he tasted good, he felt giddy. Odd, but not necessarily wrong. Charlie made him want something different, not as a replacement, but as an enhancement. Maybe he was bisexual, or possibly he was just 'Charlie-sexual,' but either way, he wasn't exclusively attracted to women anymore. Now he wanted greater variety.

Fifteen years later, with Sophie, he found himself in a similar pickle. Kissing her was the best thing about being on set at Game of Thrones. He loved the rehearsals where they practiced locking lips. They would giggle like crazy trying to make up new ways to mess up their snogging so they had to repeat it over and over again. After dozens of unnecessary kisses they would reluctantly part ways until stage call the next day. He would barely sleep in anticipation of returning. 

When the Director shouted 'Action!' they were all business on set but when he yelled 'Cut!' they would hustle into the shadows to rehearse some more. They rehearsed all the time. People noticed but no one said anything to either of them. Well, except for Gwyn. She was always saying something, butting into other's affairs. But they ignored her advice, except the part about moving their rehearsals out of Paint Hall so as to draw less suspicion. When they left the privacy of the production studio and ventured onto the Belfast streets at night, they eventually ran into problems. He should have known those problems would eventually break up his relationship with Camille.

Camille had opened a bottle of Merlot from their cellar and was drinking straight from it as she yanked her clothes off their hangers in her closet. She tried to toss them across the room into her suitcases but they mostly missed and fell somewhere midway onto the floor. She seethed at him, “I hate you. I hate everything about you. You make me sick.”

Aidan sighed silently and leaned towards, hoping to take her bottle. In the reflection of the mirror beside them, she caught his approach and defensively swung at him, arm extended, barely missing his head with the butt end of the bottle. The force of her swing sent her and the bottle crashing to the ground. Luckily, the bottle stayed intact but it contents sprayed over half of the room. It looked like a crime scene with red splotches splattered everywhere and a large red puddle pooling beneath her in the carpet. Sobbing, Camille refused his hand of assistance getting up and warned him to keep away from her, “Stay away from me. I mean it, Aidan. Just leave me alone.”

“I don’t know how many times I have to explain to you that what you saw was innocent,” Aidan offered for the last time, exasperated and not entirely convinced himself.

“It’s not _that_ you were kissing her,” Camille insisted, tears streaking down her face and red wine staining her clothes. “It was _how_ you were kissing her. I know true passion when I see it. I’m _not_ blind and I’m _not_ an idiot.” 

Conceding, he nodded and said, “Agreed.”

“So you agree?” Camille asked, flabbergasted at his admission. “You _finally_ admit it?”

“I admit nothing,” Aidan denied. "And I have nothing I need to justify to you. I'm done with all this back and forth. You can believe whatever you want. About Sophie and me, or about anything." His final straw had snapped. He finally did what he should have done months earlier but failed to do out of pity and fear. 

“Give me your house key,” he insisted, steel-faced with his hand outstretched. “Now Camille.” 

Struggling to rise from the floor, Camille set the bottle on the nightstand and tried to leverage her weight against the bed to heave herself up and continue arguing. He made no effort to help her. She looked to him incredulously and then away in disgust. She picked up her purse from the nightstand and fished through its contents to find her keychain. After she found it and pulled the key from the ring, she threw it at him, hitting him in the face and putting a small laceration on his cheek. “There, you bastard. Fuck you.” 

“No Camille,” Aidan sighed as he bent to retrieve the key from the floor, “Fuck you. It’s over. Keep packing your shit and get out of this house. The Emmys are in three days so I'm flying to California in two. I expect all of your stuff to be gone before I leave. I'm sorry it's ending this way but we’re absolutely through. I won’t do this anymore.”

Aidan looked at Camille for the last time with a combination of sadness and contempt in his soft grey eyes. He fought back tears by grasping the key she'd thrown at him so tightly in his hand that it stung. Before she could protest with another word, he turned and left the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him. 

:.


	5. The Interview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating: PG (no sex, sorry!)
> 
> Characters: Sophie Turner/Aidan Gillen
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about the real lives of my subject characters. I wish them happiness and success and mean no offense by publishing this fantasy that swims around in my head. This is a fictional story which means none of it is true. Please respect my right to an imagination. Thank you.
> 
> Note: If you don't like Real Person Fiction (RPF), why are you here?
> 
> Note #2: I have no idea how to post the photo I have of the dress, so if you want to see it you'll have to head over to my tumblr page where I posted it: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/petyrspiper

Sophie couldn’t stop pulling on the edge of her dress. Gazing nervously out her limo's tinted window she wondered how much longer this drive would take. Downtown Los Angeles didn't foster quick trips anywhere, but this slow crawl towards the Microsoft Theater was bordering on ridiculous. Her being prone to over-thinking didn't help matters either.

Was Aidan already there? Would they walk the Red Carpet together? Would the paparazzi hound her relentlessly regarding the dress? Would people like the dress? Would _Aidan_ like the dress? Had she miscalculated the risks of going this far? Would tonight be one of the greatest of her life? Or would it go down in flames, remembered as a mortifying disaster?

She ran a manicured fingertip around the outline of one of the mockingbirds stitched into the skirt of her dress, trying to ease her anxiety. With her other hand, she clicked her phone on and off, on and off, on and off. She was still hoping to see a reply from Aidan to any of the texts she'd sent him since they Face Timed, but there continued to be no messages for her. Doubt and insecurity clouded her mind. Frustrated, she decided to reach out to him one last time and the phone shook slightly in her hand as she typed. She tried to calm herself by regulating her breathing, but it wasn't really working. She'd thrown herself headlong into this crazy plan and was past the point of return. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she pinpointed her focus and tried to breathe steadily. She hit the "send" button and felt she might hyperventilate.

Suddenly, a dry voice crackled over the limo's intercom. It was her driver with good news. They had arrived. Relieved, she thanked him and scooted closer to the back door in anticipation. When she went to put her phone away into her tiny bejeweled clutch though, it buzzed. She eagerly opened her messages, presuming it was Aidan finally getting back to her, but she was wrong. It was Maisie.

_So... What'd u decide to wear? I'm dying 2 C. Send a pic!_

Sophie sighed sadly then snapped a selfie. Maisie was sure to give Sophie an unfiltered opinion. Sophie was ready for it.

_Here ya go. U like? #SLAY?_

Maisie didn't disappoint. 

_OMG GIRLFRIEND!!! What a dress! U look amazing but ur #TROUBLE!!! What RU thinking? D &D are gonna KILL u._

_It’s not THAT bad._

_Mockingbirds?_

_Yeah. So?_

_It's the EMMYS! #SCANDAL!!!_

_It's just a dress, Maisie._

_Just a dress? OK. U’v done lost ur mind._

_Thx bestie..._

_How close ru?_

_On curb now._

_Dammit. I’m 5 mins out. Wanna walk with u. Impossible?_

_Doubtful._

_Bummer._

_Sorry Maisie, gotta go._

_Good luck Soph! #SLAY_

_#SLAY_

As she hung up, the door beside her swung open. Sophie took a deep breath of courage and stepped out of the limo, one long shapely leg at at time. Temporarily blinded by a hundred cameras flashing at once, she had to squint to see ahead of her. She paused to gather her balance, stand tall, and straighten her dress. When she acclimated she saw Shona, Aidan's matronly manager standing before her. Shona's eyes dragged over Sophie from head to toe. She had a slightly puzzled look on her face when she finally made eye contact with her, but it didn't stop Sophie from releasing a heavy sigh of relief. Besides Aidan himself, Shona was the next best person to see upon her arrival. Sophie was excited but stayed composed. She knew if she just allowed things to organically unfold from that point on, everything was going to be alright.

"Sophie, my dear," gushed the tiny woman, "you look splendid! Absolutely smashing! How are you?"

"I'm great Shona," Sophie replied and then grabbed the full of her skirt and lifted it up just enough to avoid tripping over it. "It's good to see you again! Thanks for offering me a hand. I really appreciate it."

Shona downplayed her gesture by insisting, "Oh, it's my pleasure, my pleasure entirely. I need to ask a favor of you though."

Sophie nodded, listening.

"Would you mind, terribly, walking with Aidan down the Carpet?"

Just hearing his name put a wide smile on Sophie's face and a distinct twinkle in her eyes. "Of course I wouldn't mind," she answered, trying to sound nonchalant. "Has he been waiting long?" 

"Not at all, dear," Shona assured. "We've only been here a few minutes. But Aidan needs a walking companion and I thought you would be the perfect one. You're a formidable pair, you know."

"Yes," she agreed with a mischievous grin. "Quite formidable."

Shona smiled back at Sophie and began to lead her through the crowd at the edge of the Carpet. Sophie wondered why Shona hadn't said anything yet about the dress; she'd surely seen it in all its glory when she sized her up. Instead, Shona just prattled on about how proud she was of her client's nomination and how deserving he was of the honor. Of course, Sophie agreed but she barely paid any attention to what Shona was saying. Her mind was entirely on the dress. Perhaps Maisie was wrong about how people were going to react to it. She presumed she'd have multiple opportunities to explain herself before having to face Aidan in it, but any hopes of practicing her elevator speech on the paparazzi seemed unlikely now.

The spot Aidan waited with Meg for Shona and Sophie to meet them was right off the Carpet and only about 50 feet or so from the curb. Aidan had his back to them, so he was unaware of their approach. Just as Shona was going to announce her, Sophie put a pointed finger to her lips, asking her to stay silent. Shona nodded knowingly and mimed a zipping of her lip so Sophie's surprise wouldn't be ruined. Sophie straightened herself, took a deep breath and then reached out and tapped Aidan gently on his shoulder. It felt like slow motion as he turned around and set his eyes upon her for the first time in well over six months. When his eyes locked onto hers, she wasn’t disappointed with his reaction. 

"Hi there handsome," she said in her sultry tone, teasing an idea of what was just below the surface of her cool demeanor. Aidan was too awestruck by her beauty to immediately reply. He stood frozen, mouth agape, and stuttered his hello to her. She couldn't help but chuckle and then demure, averting her eyes for fear they would expose her deepest desires to him. He finally broke the tension of the awkward moment by outstretching his arms and pulling her into a deep, hearty hug. She returned his embrace tightly, so happy to be touching him again. He felt wonderful. Sophie moved her mouth right up against his ear and whispered to him, seductively, "I'm so glad we're finally together." 

Her breath on his ear and her voice in his head sent shivers through Aidan's body. He was amazed she would be so forward. She impressed him so much. Swimming in a sea of thoughts and feelings, he struggled to convert any of them into coherent words. He simply hung onto their embrace and held her far tighter and longer than reasonably appropriate. Just as their companions were beginning to notice and question what they were witnessing, he cleared his throat and found his voice. 

“My dearest Sophie,” he started as their bodies reluctantly separated, “You've grown into such an impressive young woman. You look absolutely radiant. That gown is gorgeous on you. Let me see it.”

This was the moment she had been dreading and desiring so much simultaneously. Sophie blushed with pride and obliged him, twirling around in her designer gown to impart it's full effect. She was ecstatic that his feedback, insofar, had been positive. After all, it was he that she dressed to impress and only his opinion that mattered to her. As she spun around, Aidan's eyes grew big and an astonished look of fear came over his face. When she curtsied politely after showing herself off, a gasp escaped from his mouth and he asked her, incredulous, “Are those what I think they are on your dress?”

“You mean the birds?” Sophie replied innocently.

"Yes," said Aidan, looking uncomfortable and awkward, "I mean the birds."

“Aren’t they great?” she gushed, hoping desperately that she'd hadn't misread his reaction. She then dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned towards Aidan to add, "I was thinking of you when I got it, you know. I really hope you like it."

Aidan didn't know what to say. It felt like a practical joke was being played on him. He quickly looked over his shoulder, sure he would see the paparazzi poised to wreak havoc, but no cameras were there. Scanning around them, he saw no one taking particular interest in her or the dress, and momentarily, that relieved him. But he didn't see how attention could be avoided if they walked the Carpet together. He was panicking. “I don’t know Sophie," he stuttered. "The dress is beautiful, for sure, but it's a bit, uh, a bit risky, don't you think?”

“The birds?” Sophie asked, suddenly faltering with doubt.

Aidan didn’t reply.

“Start walking, you two,” Meg called out from behind them. Sophie was now self-conscious and awkward though. Without her confidence in place, she worried the long walk would be a disaster. She looked to Aidan for a life-line but he provided none. He looked embarrassed and adverse to walking with her. Still, she had to persevere whether Aidan liked her dress or not. As they began their walk, reporters started calling out their names to get their attention for photos and potential interviews. Shona walked ahead of them to vet out which news outlets would best cover the story of her client's nomination, and soon she had a short list of acceptable stops.

“Aidan, Sophie!” shouted Juliana Rancic from E! Entertainment News. Shona nodded her approval to them, so the co-stars moved aside to greet the diminutive reporter and her camera crew. Their first interview was underway and they both were nearly nauseous with nervousness.

Juliana spoke first. “You two look fabulous tonight. Who are you wearing?”

Aidan tried hard not to roll his eyes while Sophie answered, “I’m in Elie Saab and Aidan, I don’t know. Who are you wearing Aidan?”

“Hugo Boss, of course,” he smirked, as though he was their brand spokesman. 

“Of course,” Sophie and Juliana echoed in unison, and then laughed, giving each other knowing looks of approval. 

“Your gown is so unique Sophie. It's gorgeous," Juliana praised. "But those birds, are they mockingbirds?” 

Sophie replied, trying to sound confident, but her words seemed forced and fell flat. “Yes, I think they are. Aren’t they marvelous? They’re what attracted me to the dress in the first place.”

“Well, isn’t the mockingbird the sigil of Littlefinger’s House, the character you play Aidan?”

“Technically, no, it’s not,” Aidan answered into the microphone that had been pushed in front of him. “House Baelish doesn’t really exist as Petyr has no living relatives and no heirs.”

“But the mockingbird,” Juliana pressed on. “It’s a symbol associated with your character, true?”

“It is,” Aidan acquiesced. “But I’d venture to say that the birds on Sophie’s dress look more like the falcons of House Arryn, not mockingbirds.”

“Sophie? Any comment?”

Flustered, Sophie blurted out the only thing she could think of to save face, “I just got the dress because I loved it, that’s all.”

“Well that’s enough,” Juliana conceded. “Thank you, Sophie. And thank you too Aidan. Good luck in there tonight.”

“Yes, thank you,” Aidan replied, nodding. He’d almost forgotten about the Emmy award he was nominated for with Sophie looking so amazing, right by his side, and with all the talk about fashion and mockingbirds. His stomach was in knots. He absolutely loathed the Red Carpet.

Suddenly he felt Sophie’s fingers searching his out and intertwining with them. Too petrified to shake them off, he kept them threaded amongst his own, soft and cool. Her fingernails scratched the inside of his palm and he looked to her, confused. She just smiled and used her other hand to wave at the crowds. They were holding hands walking down the red carpet and a million flashes were going off in their faces. What on earth was Sophie doing?

“Keep walking,” Meg reminded them again. She said nothing about their fingers.

:.


End file.
